Sit Back, Relax, and Enjoy the Flight
by Feather-of-Maat
Summary: Rogue hates airplanes. Logan hates airplane food. Logan/Rogue pairing, rated for mild innuendo.


Disclaimer: _X-Men_ and its characters belong to a bunch of people who aren't me.

Author's Note: This was originally dialogue-only as a response to a challenge, but I beefed it up a bit since I don't think FFN allows dialogue-only fics.

- - -

"I hate airplanes."

Logan raised an eyebrow at the young woman strapped into the seat next to him, a hint of a smirk showing beneath the scruff on his face. "I'm not particularly fond of 'em myself, darlin.'"

"Well, at least you've never been sucked out of one and come close to being smushed on the ground like a bug on a windshield," Rogue countered, giving him a pointed look.

Logan winced slightly, thinking back to the unpleasant run-in with fighter pilots that had nearly gotten them all killed. "That's not going to happen this time. This plane wasn't built for acrobatics like the jet was. Besides, we're not gonna have Air Force pilots shootin' at us on _this_ flight."

"Still…" Rogue's voice trailed off as she wet her lips nervously, folding her hands in her lap so she could suppress the urge to wring them. "Crashes do happen, y'know. Maybe we should've brought Kurt along, just in case."

"Can't say I'd be too thrilled about having him tagging along the whole time we're in France," Logan said dryly, wrinkling his nose just a bit. "It'd be…inconvenient." Now it was his turn to give her a significant glance.

Rogue's look of unease morphed into a decidedly mischievous grin. "Well, you have a point there."

The conversation was interrupted by an almost jarring "ding" from the loudspeaker, followed by a crackle of static before an official-sounding masculine voice spoke up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. I'd like to apologize for the delay. Fortunately, it looks like we have the problem all straightened out now, and we're next in line for takeoff. We should be airborne shortly. Thank you for your patience, and enjoy the flight. Flight crew, prepare for takeoff."

Rogue groaned, beginning to wring her hands in spite of herself. "Oh, I hate this part."

"It beats sitting on the ground for forty-five minutes waiting for them to get their act together," Logan replied with a snort. He wasn't a particularly patient man on the best of days, but being forced to sit in a tiny airplane seat for nearly an hour—after having already spent several mind-numbingly dull hours in the JFK airport—would be enough to make anyone growl.

"If you say so. Omigosh, we're speeding up!"

"Planes generally do that before they take off, Marie," Logan said with a dry chuckle. His amusement faded into concern, however, when he noticed the new tint Rogue's face was taking on. "Hey, you're looking a little green, there…you're not going to throw up on me, are you?"

Rogue shook her head rapidly, clinging to her armrests as if they were lifelines. "I'm not going to throw up, I'm going to have a heart attack."

"Just relax, darlin.'"

"We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die…"

Logan sighed. "Marie, if you don't quit that carryin' on, I'm going to be forced to come up with some way of distracting that mouth of yours."

Rogue's slightly frantic mantra came to a halt as his words sunk in. She tilted her head a bit, regarding him with one eyebrow raised. "…Really?"

"On second thought, that might not be such a good idea," Logan said, jerking his head toward the middle of the plane, where the flight attendants were scurrying about like ants carrying food back to their nest. "We'd probably be tossed off the plane."

Rogue huffed out a short breath, her lips curling downward into a pout. "Hmph."

- - -

"What _is _this stuff?"

"Logan, shhh!" Rogue hissed, holding a finger to her lips even as she struggled to squash a rising giggle. "The flight attendants can hear you!"

"Let 'em," Logan shot back, his tone more than a little disgusted. "I can't believe they pass this stuff off as food. Even that sorry excuse for a donut you got back at the airport looked more appetizing than this."

"That was a scone, not a donut, and for your information it was actually quite tasty."

"Tasty?" Logan's eyebrows went up, and he turned to look at Rogue, the unappetizing meal momentarily forgotten. "Darlin,' you don't know the meaning of the word."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I could give you an example, though…" he trailed off meaningfully.

Rogue licked her lips slowly, giving him a look out of the corner of her eye. "Weren't you the one who was talking about being tossed off the plane earlier?"

Logan swore under his breath and shot a malevolent glance in the general direction of the nearest flight attendant. Rogue couldn't help but be fleetingly thankful that his mutation didn't involve shooting deadly beams from his eyes like Scott.

"Logan, stop growling and eat your chicken."

"It's not chicken," he retorted. "I don't know what it is, but it ain't chicken."

She sighed, suddenly feeling like she was his mother. "Would you quit complaining and just give it a try? It's really not that bad."

Logan gave up on his attempt to vaporize the flight attendant with his glare and turned back toward the food tray in front of him. "If you insist." He sawed off a piece of the poultry, shoved it into his mouth, and gave it a few half-hearted chews before swallowing.

"Well, I guess it's not the worst thing I've ever eaten."

"See?" Rogue sounded triumphant. "I told you."

He shot her a look both amused and exasperated. "Just because it's not the worst thing I've ever eaten doesn't mean it's any good."

She chuckled, shaking her head, and took another bite of her own meal. "Logan, you're hopeless."

He put on a wounded look. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the guy who's taking you to France for two weeks."

"Aww, I guess you're right," she said, her gaze softening immediately even though she knew he was teasing her. "Don't worry, I'll make it up to you when we get there."

"You could make it up to me now…" he suggested, leaning forward slightly, the meal forgotten once more.

"Logan!" she yelped. "There's a flight attendant standing right over there!"

He gave a growl of frustration that turned into a longsuffering sigh, and stabbed the hapless chicken with his plastic spork. "How many more hours until we land?"

The End


End file.
